


Interspace

by williamspockspeare



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Asexual Spock (Star Trek), Asexuality, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, T'hy'la, the cuteness continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-15 00:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamspockspeare/pseuds/williamspockspeare
Summary: "He did not wish for them to change their essential nature – illogical. Nor did he wish to change what he was, but he recognized the differences, and they were stark, and unavoidable."Spock questions if he should reveal an essential part of himself to his t'hy'la, and what the consequences may be.





	1. Chapter 1

Spock, despite all his efforts to the contrary, was unsure.

This uncertainty was not based in his role as an officer, for that went unquestioned. Nor had any person aboard called him unfit, or unwanted.

Indeed, of all his life experience, he was most secure aboard the Enterprise. It was to be expected. The simple nature of working closely within the same group of people for multiple years was apt to the formation of bonds. Nevertheless, this specific group of officers had welcomed him into their fold enthusiastically.

Spock found it…comforting. To join their platonic collection, not because of birth right or service record, but merely for himself, was new, but not unwelcome. It satisfied a quiet need, one denied to him by his Vulcan peers in youth. The need to be needed in return. 

Still, for all their amiability, for all the demonstrations of platonic affection from the senior brass, the fact remained inalienable that Spock was not like the rest.

He was Vulcan ( _half human!_ cried the insistent voice within), and they were human. Their lives were messy, wild, free, allowing them to shout and laugh at each other in the rec rooms. Their emotions were painted across every surface of the Enterprise, and his were tucked away into small corners of himself.

He did not wish for them to change their essential nature – illogical. Nor did he wish to change what he was, but he recognized the differences, and they were stark, and unavoidable.

Spock was content here. It was necessary to remind himself. He was content. It was wondering how long this contentment could persist that troubled him.

*

 

What made Spock most content – bordering on that all too human word _happy_ – was new, and, while at times disconcerting, a surprisingly pleasant revelation.

_Jim._

Or perhaps, it was even simpler.

 _Us_.

Four months elapsed since the night of their fortuitous game of chess, where little chess had actually occurred; dissolving instead into confessions of long buried feelings. In those months, he and his captain had taken on new duties to each other, and wore new titles. _Boyfriends._

It was wonderful.

Their existence had not fundamentally altered. Jim was still captain, Spock still his first officer. The ship trekked forward into space, and their essential regard for each other remained consistent, unbending. But now they touched and embraced, whispered their secrets so the other might hide them, demonstrated all the ways one could laugh or tease. They spent hours in silent reverence, or fervent friendly debate, or simply enjoyed the company of the other. 

Spock could not feel happiness in the human sense, and so he was not happy. Instead, he felt with Surak, who, having gained the unification of his people, described joy as to sit in the shadow of one’s _t’hy’la_.

With Jim, all that Spock desired had been given to him. No complaint should exist. Yet there remained a singular, daunting obstacle.

His contentment alone could not measure the success of their relationship. The needs of the many must be looked to before singular satisfaction. It was his duty, as an officer, as a friend, as one who looked upon him in adoration, to fulfil Jim’s needs. Of course, Jim had not expressed these particular needs as of yet – but Spock knew his courtesy, his patience, and his pride. He never stooped, even if the logic was sound. The logical advocate within said Spock should provide for him, even without request.

A deeper voice, one that felt more like himself, wanted no part of it.

Spock was caught in a quandary, between common sense, the proud responsibility of pleasing his _t’hy’la,_ and the shame, the repulsion of what that pleasing required of him. 

He loved Jim, would care for him in all ways possible for him, but Spock could no more alter his fundamental nature than erase one half of his hybridity.

Spock feared, as some small part of himself always had, that he would never be enough.

*

 

“Sir?”

The question drew Spock from his thoughts, and he turned to look at the yeoman in training who spoke.

Momentarily, the yeoman did nothing but stare back. Janice Rand nudged them gently.

“Um! Reports for your approval, sir!” They thrust the PADD in their hands forward, with slightly too much force.

The Spock of three years ago would not have known what the raised pitch, the fidgeting, the elevated energy of this person meant, and would have disparaged it as a pointless, illogical trait of humanity. Now, however, he had grown to understand the concept of “beginner’s nerves”, and appreciate the good intentions behind it.

“Thank you.” He accepted the PADD and added, “Your delivery is punctual.” It was difficult to miss the beaming smile that broke out across their face.   

Scanning the documents briefly and sending the report, he tapped the button on the side that linked to the ship’s computers.

“Computer, operational transfer, first officer Spock.”

“ _Acknowledged, first officer’s operational preferences accessed and computed._ ”

Spock turned his seat, the captain’s chair, away from where Rand was instructing her trainee on briefing protocol.

“Computer, recall recently viewed files, specific to first officer search history within the last twenty four hours.”

The screen darkened momentarily, before responding to his request. Three documents existed as per his specifications. Dr. M’Benga’s most recent report on the Vulcan immune system, a study on dark matter concentration in the Alpha quadrant, and one he had written himself on—

“Asexuality?”

The voice of Janice Rand startled him, made him move the PADD sharply away from her sight.

“You too?” She let out a sigh, in entirely human exasperation. “The boys in the lab have been blabbing about those self-reproducing bean sprouts Sulu developed for a week! I mean, they’re okay, I suppose, but are they really that interesting?”

While Spock held no opinion on the state of the bean sprouts, he found the benign comment to be a relief from the anticipated negative reaction.

“The diversity of life ensures each species provides unique benefit to its habitat, no matter its nature. That is what makes all life, including Lieutenant Sulu’s bean sprouts, fascinating.”

“Maybe.” Janice shrugged. “I'm just not biologically inclined, I guess.”

“Indeed.” Spock raised an eyebrow. “Nor am I.”

Janice did not recognize the subtext, or seemed like she cared to. That suited Spock’s purposes. 

“I’ll take your PADD if you’ve finished up, sir.”

“I require a short time longer.”

He had no need, of course, to read studies on asexuality, or possessed the necessary scientific clout to make sufficient claims on the subject. The document he had written was in fact a summarization of his thoughts, and a confession of his true self.

It was addressed to Captain Kirk.

He closed the document. He was not prepared to illuminate his beloved on what he lacked just yet, and especially not during professional hours.

“Thank you, yeoman.”

“No problem.” Janice took the PADD, and with a short whistle to her trainee, sauntered off to the turbolift.

The time would come to express the truth. It was only logical. Still, Spock began to understand that logic was of little comfort in matters of the heart.


	2. Chapter 2

With his quarterly (or, as he liked to call it, “drawn and quarterly”) physical exam finished, Jim felt it was his prerogative as captain to take a few minutes to himself.

If that meant napping in a biobed, then hey, it was an occupational perk.

“Get up, ya dope.”

Jim smiled lazily, but did not open his eyes, and certainly did not get up. “Five more minutes, ma.”

He felt McCoy’s PADD stylus tap the end of his nose. “This ain’t a bed n’ breakfast, kiddo. Anyway, I got a few more questions for you.”

“Can’t I answer them asleep?”

“Personal questions.”

Jim opened one eye. “Spock?”

“Yep.”

Letting out a groan, he conceded to prop himself up on his elbows.

“You picked now to start being interested in my relationship?”

But he could see, as Bones sat down on the edge of the biobed, the dark furrow of his brow. This conversation had some importance.

Jim sat up. “Is everything alright?”

Bones let out a small chuckle. “That was supposed to be my question to you.”

“Everything’s fine, I think.” When Bones gave him nothing, he shook his head. “You don’t agree?”

“I don’t know, Jimbo. I might be just readin’ into things.” McCoy clasped his hands together, let that sit in the air for a moment, before adding, “But I’m a little concerned about that green boyfriend of yours.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like him.”

“Of course I like him. Hell, you certainly seem to.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Well, it’s—” Bones lifted his hands into the air. “It’s been four months, and I’d-a thought by now you’d be coming to me for a whole lot of other tests. Both of you. The tests you do because of your partner, if you catch my drift.”

He did catch the drift. Jim didn’t like it.

“Bones.”

“I’m not trying to pry into your relationship.”

“Sure sounds like you are.” Jim slid off the biobed, and made his way to the door.

Bones was quick to follow. “I’m trying to look out for you. As your chief medical officer, it’s my job to know when senior brass are being intimate.”

Jim stopped, turned to face him. “And what’s the job if they aren’t, Bones?”

It seemed to catch McCoy off guard, if only briefly. “Then it’s my job to ask questions about that relationship, and whether it’s worth your while.”

Perhaps that was reasonable, but Jim felt his defences rise immediately. Bones knew him well enough to see it – he touched his arm in semi-apology, semi-reproach.

“Okay, maybe that’s a bit much. But it’s been four months, Jim. That’s a pretty decent time for a couple to go without sex. From what I know of your history – and don’t enlighten me any further – it’s the longest.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe there’s a difference in the feelings between you two.”

“Feelings?” Jim couldn’t help but smile at that. “You do remember you’re talking about Spock, right?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes.” In fact, he saw McCoy’s point all too clearly. “I know.”

If he was honest, Jim had harboured some concerns about Spock too.

In the past week, the Vulcan had retreated inward. He had taken several evening shifts in the lab, without the usual explanation as to their absolute necessity. He’d missed two of their scheduled chess games. When he finally attended, and their match finished, Jim had floated the offer of Spock staying the night – to which Spock blanched, stammered an excuse, and promptly exited.

It was troubling, and it made him wonder what he had done wrong. But confronting Spock on his worries, never mind demanding an answer, was only liable to push him further away.

Jim reminded himself that this was all new for Spock. The struggles, the rapturous and the quotidian emotions associated, the moments of awkward vulnerability, all those things that Jim had come to understand with practice. Spock was still testing the mechanics of this latest experiment in social interaction, and Jim couldn’t blame him for that.

Still, in spite of their differences and maybe how it looked from the outside, he and Spock had developed something incredibly special, irreplaceable. In the quiet, private moments between them, even if chaste, simple, he had felt the depths of Spock’s love for him, felt his own bloom brighter, and stronger. To Jim, there was no one quite like Spock. 

But Bones was right, at least on one thing. They had not had sex, or even discussed it.

It was purposeful, however, on Jim’s end. He had avoided his usual trap of moving too fast, focusing instead on making Spock feel safe, building something dependable, secure. With Spock in control, it was perhaps only logical that no erotic doings had been done. He had thought it fine – in fact, Jim had never been happier. But with Spock’s sudden avoidance, and a little thought, Jim began to wonder if he was happy too.

He didn’t know why he was being so foolish. For the longest time, sex had been the very thing ruining his relationships. A few of his past lovers – Janice Lester sprang to mind – even thought his history meant an unconditional yes to sex on their terms. Sex caused more interruptions than romance, apparently making him any number of unpleasant epithets, and certainly, in the eyes of many of his critics, unfit for a real relationship.

And if he was honest, he wasn’t missing it. Sex often became an obligation, or a false measuring stick for love, and it was always a hurdle to meaningful interaction – especially since that stupid _Starfleet Ladykiller_ persona sprung up around him.

Besides, Spock doted upon him in little ways. Arranging his reports, and replicating breakfast every morning without fail. Touching the back of his hand on duty. Calling him Jim or, better, that tiny whisper of " _t’hy’la"_ after a kiss that seemed to carry all the love in the world.

Small things. But things you couldn’t report on a Starfleet record. 

It just made him nervous, he supposed. Jim thought so often of their future. No. Spock _was_ his future. And he worried that Spock looked ahead with no thought of him at all.  

“I can’t say I haven’t asked the same questions. I don’t have any good answers for you.” Jim wandered back to the biobed, leaned against it. “I think I might have done something wrong. He’s been acting…well, not strange, but not Spock. And avoiding me.”

Bones made a face. “He gets moody.”

Jim shot him a gentle glare. “He does not get moody.”

“Bullshit. That Vulcan gets more mood swings than a cat in heat.”

“Well, it’s not that.” Jim smiled in spite of himself. “And what’s with the change of heart? Thought you had _concerns_.”

“Oh, I have concerns, but I know damn well you never listen to me.” Bones chuckled, walked over to him. “You know, I kinda like Spock. He treats you pretty well, seems to make you happy. I just want to make sure it stays that way.”

That was truly quite touching. “Thanks Bones.”

“Hey.” McCoy clapped a hand to his shoulder. “I’m not that worried anyhow. With the way you two look at each other, it’s just a miracle you aren’t wearin’ out the bedsprings.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Got any more questions about my relationship?”

Bones gave an exaggerated shudder, and immediately walked away. Jim laughed, followed him.

“Wanna know what Spock kisses like?”

Bones made a _don’t test me kiddo_ face over his shoulder, hitting the start button on the examination readout program.

“You know, I was gonna prescribe you a mint julep, but you’ve been driving me crazy, so I think I won’t.”

Laughing, Jim put on his most innocent look. “Me? What have I done?”

“For one thing, your Spock talk makes everybody wanna puke.”

“You started it.”

“Yep.” Bones raised his brows. “Infection spreads fast.”

“Oh, come on, Bones, surely you know lovesickness is a perfectly natural disease.” Jim strolled over to McCoy’s desk. He grinned when McCoy gave him a familiar glare that said not to sit on it. Jim perched there anyway. “It’s like chickenpox, or Andorian fungitis.”

“Yeah, well, it ain’t _fun-_ gitis for the rest of us. ”

“Ha ha.”

“Look, I don’t see what your big problem is anyhow. You’re Captain Kiss-em-dead, aren’t you?” Bones waved a vague hand. “Work your stuff!”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Isn’t it? I mean, for Pete’s sake, Jim, maybe the damn hobgoblin’s been waiting for you to sweep him off his feet. Maybe he’s tired of gettin’ the short end of the romantic stick! Uh,” Bones frowned, holding up an amending hand. “That’s a figurative stick, of course.”

Jim opened his mouth to protest, but found the point made a lot more sense than he’d anticipated.

They hadn’t really done anything romantic. Yes, kissing, holding hands, but thinking back over the months, Jim hadn’t performed nearly so many grand gestures as he’d have liked. Poetry. Flowers. Debating the translational merits of the Surakian philosophical texts (hey, he hadn’t read them for nothing!) And, really, wasn’t it logical for the more emotional partner to instigate the moments of passion?  

“Of course!” Jim could feel the grin forming already. “I haven’t showed him how I feel! I’ve just expected him to know. Bones, you’re a genius!”

McCoy’s noise of protest was muffled slightly as Jim seized him by the arms and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Still, the doctor’s grumbling was clear as a bell.

“I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

“I’ll send you a big bundle of roses.”

“Please don’t tell me a goddamn word. I don’t care about regulation – don’t tell me a single thing that goes on in that damn captain’s quarters.”

“Oh, no. I’m giving you the highlights.” To that, Bones groaned. “The important highlights.” Another, emphatic groan. “All the logical lovemaking I can remember.”

“I’ll have you classed with every medical disorder I can think of.”

Jim winked. “And I’ll tell you at breakfast tomorrow.”

“Just get out of here already!”

And because Jim was in a good mood, he did.


	3. Chapter 3

That evening, Spock found his sleeping robe missing.

In its place was the black king piece from his preferred chess set, and a small folded note.

_Come “check” me out. Love, Your T._

Despite the turmoil he felt within, he allowed himself a small smile. It was merely a factual denotation. Still, a unique pleasure existed in knowing Jim embraced him as _t’hy’la_.

He briefly considered avoiding the invitation altogether.

The temptation was thus: action brought about definite consequences, while inaction delayed or avoided. He had already evaded the truth on seventeen separate occasions. If he accepted the request, Spock was ninety-seven point two percent certain he would address his concerns for their relationship. Should he do so, the likelihood that Jim would subsequently end it was forty-three point seven.

Vulcans did not get nervous. Half-humans, however, could fear such consequences. 

 _Kaiidth_. Spock would always occupy a place of difference, whether in his species, his emotions, or his sexuality. He owed himself the dignity of acceptance. Nothing could be demanded of anyone else, Jim being most important of all.

Still, his hands trembled as he pressed the buzzer outside Jim’s quarters.

“ _Identified as First Officer Spock, manual override initiated_.”

When the door slid open, however, it revealed a different sight than expected.

The captain’s room had been dimmed to seventeen percent lights, made two point five percent brighter by several scented candles positioned around the room – chamomile, he determined. A bottle of Saurian brandy stood beside the tri-dimensional chessboard, complete with crystal glasses, and a small bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries.

All quite unusual additions to Jim’s living quarters. Spock, from his cultural studies of human romantic tradition, knew that this was a _mise en scène_ associated with romance.

Before he could consider the specific implications of this, the bathroom door swished open.

“Spock! I didn’t hear you come in.”

Jim was clad in Spock’s robe, one shoulder having slid down to reveal his bare chest, likely a purposeful decision. It was evident, from the delicate shimmer of his eye shadow and the slight sheen of his lip, that he had just finished applying makeup.

Noticing his gaze, Jim leaned back against the doorframe, assuming a flirtatious pose.

“Like what you see?”

His sensual appeal was dampened slightly by fact Jim also wore fuzzy blue slippers. However, Spock determined this choice was in fact amusing, and so incorporated it into his overall positive assessment.

“Yes.” It would be incongruous to withhold his feelings. “You are beautiful.”

“Oh!” Jim’s coy pretence melted into a smile. A blush accompanied him as he sauntered over. “You’re very sweet. Or were you just complimenting me because of the robe?”

“It was a factor in my determination.”

“I knew it.”

Jim pulled him forward into a long, tender kiss. He could feel the dance of Jim’s thoughts brush the back of his mind, and had to focus to withstand their lovely, illogical hum.  

“I’m glad you came.” Their contact was only barely broken, thus Spock could feel the words against his lips. “I’ve missed you.”

“You have seen me on duty.”

Jim laughed, moved so they could look at each other. “I’ve missed this. Just us, you know? You’ve been—well, we’ve both had duty to distract us. And nothing against duty, of course, but...” He gave him a small smile. “I appreciate the time we have together.”

“As do I.” Spock allowed himself to put a hand on Jim’s waist, pulled him gently closer. “I apologize for my recent withdrawal from our romantic conduct, which I know has troubled you. I have been considering a matter deeply, and believed my irresolution would compromise the integrity of our affectionate behaviour.”

“Spock, I don’t need an apology. Being here is enough.”

It was often the case that humans made statements without fully meaning them. However, the fondness in Jim’s gaze seemed to suggest he was entirely sincere. This proved relieving, and Spock attempted to demonstrate this through his nod in return. 

Jim wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “Besides, it seems like it was a pretty serious matter of consideration to have taken so much time. Have you reached a satisfying conclusion?”

“I have settled on a course of action, though I have yet to undertake it.”

“I wish you luck, then.” Jim grinned. “Or at least a rational outcome.”

“In this circumstance, I will accept luck.”

Placing a kiss to his cheek, Jim let him go. One hand slid down his arm to take Spock’s hand, and he brought him further into the room.  

“Would you like a drink? I got some of Scotty’s best, special.”

“I am uncertain as to why you acquired any to begin with.”

“Well.” Jim shrugged, a bit too nonchalantly to be natural. “I just thought it’d be a nice change.”

Spock narrowed his gaze. He began to think again of their context, the objects around them.

“Is it a Terran holiday?”

A bemused expression crossed Jim’s face. “No.”

“You are responsible for the additional decorative elements of your quarters, correct?”

“Yes. I’m not sure what you’re—”

“Captain, I am perplexed.”

Spock turned aside, cataloguing the items once more. Candles. Brandy. Chocolate saturated Terran fruit. A revealing choice of apparel. The phenomena of _mood_ lighting.

“For your proposed activity of chess, these goods provide no benefit. They have obviously required a significant effort to assemble, and yet act in no significant manner.”

“Well—”

“Additionally, these objects are central to idealized versions of human intercourse.” Spock noticed that Jim blushed several shades of pink. He persisted: “As such, they imply that our meeting has nothing to do with chess, and argue that your real goal was only to engage in sexual relations.”

“It…”

There was a pause, in which Jim clasped and unclasped his hands rather uselessly.

“Alright. But that wasn’t my _only_ goal.”

Blood did not freeze on natural occurrence, and therefore Spock’s, logically, had not. But it felt very much like it had.

“Jim.” He heard the word leave his lips distantly, but could not determine through the blur of emotion exactly how.

Perhaps Jim understood he had no further answer, for he moved to his side. Spock sensed his heartbeat quicken. He struggled to separate his own rush of fear from that of his beloved’s affection as Jim’s hands came to rest on his chest, his fingertips leaving tiny caresses as they traced his collarbone.

“I love you.” Jim’s smile was small, almost bashful. “All of this was me trying to show you that – maybe not very well. Sometimes I’m afraid I don’t do enough, or the right thing.” One hand rose to trace his cheek. “Tuh— um, _taluhk nash-veh k’dular_ , Spock.”

Spock shut his eyes. He cherished Jim deeply, perhaps equally. Knowing this, however, did not aid him in remaining stoic, calm.

“Did I get it right?”

“Yes.”

“Spock?” He felt the hand on his chest tighten, pull at the fabric of his uniform. When he opened his eyes, Jim’s hazel ones were bright with concern. “Is everything ok?”

“That… is as of yet unknown.”

“It’s what I said before, isn’t it?” He moved his hands onto Spock’s arms, gripped them firmly. “We don’t have to go there tonight, if you don’t want. I wasn’t even going to bring it up, unless you felt the same.”

“You have no need to justify your desires. The problem is not located—”

“So something is wrong!”

Jim pulled him into a tight embrace. It was a gesture his captain offered frequently to comfort others, but one Spock had never required before. He required it now. Thus, he surrendered to it, burying his face into the waiting shoulder.

He could feel Jim’s golden thoughts rush to his, surround his mind in a shield of _worry, comfort, please tell me you’re alright, Spock._

“It’s ok.” A hand stroked the back of his head. Jim added quietly, “If it’s something I’ve done, I won’t be upset.”

“My apprehension this evening is not your fault. I have born this uncertainty for approximately eleven point four days.” When Jim made a small sound of empathy, Spock shook his head. “This is of my own doing.”

“I wish you’d told me.” Jim moved back, just enough for their faces to be visible to one another. “It’s that matter you mentioned before, then? The serious one?”

Spock hesitated, then relented. “Affirmative.”

He understood that the moment had arrived. It was imperative he be clear, that he speak as efficiently as possible.

“I accepted your invitation with the intention of revealing to you a deeply intimate part of myself. Its nature is quite important to our future. Please understand that this admission is challenging – I have never disclosed this information to anyone.”

Jim nodded. Spock allowed his hands to caress Jim’s broad curves, the soft shape of his back, his waist for a moment longer, doubting if he would ever be permitted to do so again.

“Through the research I have undertaken regarding human romantic preferences, I am aware this information may cause you to terminate our relationship, or fundamentally alter our status as boyfriends. The prospect of this is…difficult to accept.”

“I’ve got you.” His fingers curled around the nape of Spock’s neck, centering him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, leaning into the touch. Though he was admittedly nervous, his _t’hy’la_ ’s presence would always comfort him. He allowed his eyes to close, momentarily. “I am frightened.” 

“We’ll be alright.” Jim moved a hand to gently caress his face. His touch passed over the psi points of Spock’s temple, the current of his compassion and his love rising and falling as the contact passed. “There’s nothing we can’t survive, haven’t we always said that? We even made it through your time. Wait.” Jim’s eyes widened, his voice dropped volume significantly. “Has it returned?”

“I am not undergoing _pon farr_ , Jim.” Considering the suggestion, Spock raised a brow. “It is, however, a useful point of entrance into the information I wish to disclose.”

“Would you like to sit down first?”

“Certainly.”

They moved to the nearby table. Spock was momentarily struck by how often they had spent astride it. The tri-dimensional chessboard stood as makeshift monument to many a battle of wits and words that had been waged at this spot. Indeed, it was the location of another confession, the forging of their bond. The simple table therefore possessed a measure of importance, one that felt correct for this moment of vulnerability.

Jim pulled his chair to Spock’s side of the table, then held out his palms. Spock felt the edge of his lips wobble slightly, placed his hands within the touch of his beloved.

“Alright, Mr. Spock.” Jim’s voice was gentle, but steady, determined. “Do your worst.”

“There is a common misconception about the sexual proclivity of Vulcans.”

Clearly, Jim hadn’t been expecting that as an opening statement – his eyebrows shot up his forehead. Spock dropped his gaze to their intertwined hands, finding it helpful to focus anywhere besides his all too revealing expression.    

“Namely, that Vulcans lack all sexual drive outside the incidence of _pon farr_. This is inaccurate. A baseline look at the population growth and regularity across time would demonstrate such. I can,” he added, glancing up, “provide you with references, should you require them.”

A grin spread across Jim’s lips. “I trust your research on the matter.”

“In addition, human population and interpersonal trends indicate that the majority of your species engages in sex. From your comments tonight, and from other evidence, I know you have such desires. Despite this commonality, both our species recognize the existence of differing sexualities, ones which lack the drive once considered inherent.”

“So, ultimately…” He felt Jim shift forward, seeming to attempt to piece together what Spock had just said. “The subject you’re getting at is asexuality.”

“That is correct.” Spock pressed his lips together. “Do you require an explanation of what that entails?”

“I don’t think so.” Jim removed one of his hands from where they entwined with Spock’s, rested it at his lip. “Do you identify, then, with the misconception? I mean, with the idea that Vulcans aren’t overtly sexual?”

“I do not condone the misconception, however, it is useful in describing my own sexuality.”

“Then, you’re—?”

“Indeed. I am asexual.”

It was a decidedly different experience to speak what he had known within aloud for the first time. Something about it felt quite affirming, as it had felt to choose Starfleet, to receive commission, to win scholastic merit in his youth. It was akin to the human custom of a middle name – not central to his identity, but a part of his identity nonetheless.

And yet, he was so very afraid of the response it would engender.

“And you don’t want sex, then, at all.”

“Correct.” Spock wet his lips. “I am aware, also, of the challenges this proposes for our romantic future.”

Jim’s brow furrowed. “I’d like to ask a question, but I’m not sure if you’d appreciate it.”

“You may ask of me what you will.” Spock tilted his head. “I suspect, however, you refer to _pon farr_.”

There was a flash of surprise in Jim’s eyes, perhaps a little embarrassment. He smiled. “Good suspicions.”

“It is a logical point of interest. I, too, wondered if I would ever experience it. There are descriptions of Vulcans with similar orientations that are said to never feel the burning of the mating drive. I had hoped I would be so fortunate.”

A sequence of memories returned to him, flickering as a candle in a window, distant but distinct. One, confessing the fear, asking advice of his father. _Misguided._ Two, boasting as a flimsy protection against his peers that he would never be corrupted by their base biological impetus. _Ignorant, foolish._ Three, T’Pring’s rare expression of confusion as he told her of this absence, and wondering if her assurance, that he would one day feel as she did, could ever be possible. _Painful._

“It is obvious, now, that these are myths, and not reality. _Pon farr_ is merely biological, and must therefore be endured regardless of personal preference.”

Jim’s thumb brushed across the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”

Spock shook his head, and pulled his hands away. Pity served no constructive purpose, and it stung slightly.

“ _Kaiidth_. We do not retain our memories during the fever, which is of significant comfort.”

“But it must still be difficult for you. It’s against your nature. And _pon farr_ is necessary for Vulcan marriage, right? It’s expected that you’ll comply if you want to make the other person happy – uh, _content_.”

He resisted a smile at Jim’s correction. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry if I ever put those expectations onto you.”

He glanced up, saw for an instant the sincerity of Jim’s expression, and promptly looked away. Confronted with emotion, Spock often found it difficult to resist unless shut off entirely. 

Jim placed a very cautious hand on his knee.

“I understand how you must have interpreted my actions this evening. Specifically in regards to the, um, decorations, I think you called them. It was really stupid of me. If I’d known, I would’ve never suggested—”

“No, Jim.” His voice quavered, and he stopped to gather himself. The hand on his knee tightened slightly, but he shook his head. “It would be illogical to fault you for what you did not know. I hold no animosity toward what you did in ignorance.”

“You have every right to.” At last, Jim let go of him. “I’m still sorry. I want you to know that sex wasn’t my prerogative, and it certainly was never the only thing I wanted. Most of all, I wanted you to know how much I cared about you.”

It was touching, but bittersweet – the words were phrased in past tense – _wanted, cared._ It sounded very much like a goodbye.

He understood what was coming. Spock rejected his human half’s impulse to sob.

“Thank you.”

Jim moved forward. From Spock’s peripheral vision, he knew it was an attempt to see what his expression was, to determine his feelings. He kept them close within.

“Are there other things you don’t want?”

“Other?” Spock raised his head. “I do not understand.”

“Within the romantic sphere. I know that some asexuals don’t appreciate any kind of contact, while others are comfortable with a wider range of behaviour. Are there any specific gestures you don’t want from me?”

“I…” Spock shifted his posture. “I do not believe so. I hardly see how it matters, as our relationship is terminated.” 

“ _What_?” Jim’s eyes were suddenly flooded with an intense emotionality, which Spock was quick to avoid.

“C-certainly. We have addressed that I cannot fulfil your—”

“Whoa, wait a second!”

It took seventy percent of his emotional control not to gasp, as Jim suddenly took his hands, pulling them both onto their feet.

“You want to end our relationship?”

The boundless rush of Jim’s emotions were crashing into his psychic barriers, but none, Spock realized, that were upset with him, not even slightly. In fact, he could begin to sense the same affection as before, now augmented, strengthened.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Of course not, Jim.”  

“Then nobody is terminating anything here.”

He blinked. “No?”

“No.” There was determination in Jim’s gaze, the set of his mouth, the kind that Spock had learned was usually justified, and unstoppable. “Sometimes you drive me crazy, Spock. Don’t you know what I feel for you? Don’t you know how much you mean to me?”

Spock lacked the necessary thought process to form a response, but opened, then shut his mouth as if he had. Jim, observing this, softened considerably, and brought a gentle hand to his cheek.     

“Spock, how could you possibly think I’d ever want to lose you?”

“You…” He swallowed hard, struggling for the words. “You are aware of the implications?”

“Yes.” From what he could sense through their touch, Spock understood this to be accurate. “I’m yours. Implications be damned. It’s you and I and what we need that matter most.”

“Indeed, and therefore it is essential it be recognized that I am not the only individual with needs in our relationship, Jim.”

“Sex isn’t a need." He could feel the same persistence as when he made a risky maneuver in chess, when he defied injustice. It was an attribute Spock had always admired, one that humbled him now. "Biologically, socially, it's not a need. You’re a scientist, Spock, you know that. It’s a want. And I don’t want anything that hurts you, no matter what. If you love me, then I don’t need anything else.” 

He recognized the idealistic, dashing look in Jim’s eyes as from the night they had confessed their love. It was a look that was liable to exaggeration.

Spock raised a brow. “Even so, Jim. You have every right to object, should you wish.”

“I don’t.” Jim smiled. “I love you.”

Perhaps, given his apprehension prior, Spock should have felt surprised, inordinately relieved, even grateful. In the ancient texts, Surak had knelt before his beloved in reverence for joining him in unification, for resisting the Vulcan factions. It took an individual of the highest character to acknowledge something other than the seemingly natural, inevitable.

But Spock did not. He felt, in fact, certain of Jim’s statements.

When Jim said “I love you” the subtext was not _in spite of what you are_. It had been _because it’s you._ The tenderness in his gaze said they owed each other nothing, except that which they chose to give. Emotional demands never made _t’hy’laras_ ; it was the accepting of the other, whatever that may be, that forged their bond.

He should have known.  

“As I do you, Jim.” The name felt more beautiful than ever. Spock allowed himself to smile. “I am honoured by your words. Forgive me for not anticipating your strength of devotion.”

The love in his eyes was radiant. “Hey.” Jim ran a delicate series of fingertips down his arm, a most welcome sensation. “I understand. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Of course.”

“Do you want to talk about it any further?”

Spock shook his head. “I am content. Do you?”

“No.” Jim smiled. “I do have one more question, though.”

"Oh?"

Raising their joined hands, Jim pressed his lips to Spock’s knuckles. There was a light blush on the rounds of his cheeks, endearing, and soft.

“Really more of a request. It’s alright if you say no,” he prefaced, giving Spock’s hand a squeeze. “And if you think of anything else you don’t want me to do, please tell me.”

Spock inclined his head. “Your request?”

Jim pulled his lip under his teeth for a moment, before murmuring, “May I kiss you?”

“You have never asked my permission in taking such liberties before.” Spock arched one brow, then turned his hand to touch the _ozh’esta_ into Jim’s palm. “Nor have you any need to.”  

He began to consider, as Jim pulled him close, that his _ashayam_ ’s smile was peculiarly infectious, for he found himself smiling in return.

*

 

Breakfast in the officer’s mess hall the next morning was exceedingly normal, excepting one factor.

Jim had informed the doctor of their, quote, “successful evening”. McCoy, a noted sensualist, seemed convinced that the only outcome for a romantic success involved a particular consummation of events.

Hence, why the doctor was staring them down over his bowl of oatmeal with steely eyes.

“Just admit it.” He squinted at Jim. “The do was done. Come on. Brag about it. Spit up the details.”

“Mmm.” Jim barely looked up from his toast. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His head swivelled, searching for a new interrogation target. “Spock?”

Spock had been forewarned of the doctor’s intention to have them admit to sexual intercourse. He therefore, as Jim instructed, played it “cool”.

“Your use of pronouns is vague. Clarify what you wish me to admit.”

McCoy went an additional shade red. “I can’t just blab that kind of thing out loud, and you know it!”

“Then I suggest the subject is inappropriate. Perhaps you have another, more useful discourse to pursue.”

“Listen here, you overgrown footnote, why don’t you just tell the truth?”

“I shall, doctor.” Spock took care to achieve a perfect spoonful of plomeek soup in the pause. “Provided, of course, you utilize full, specific sentences.”

Beside him, he felt Jim suppress a laugh.

Doctor McCoy held him a long glare, before throwing his hands in the air.

“Fine! Sex! Talking about sex and sexuality here! That’s the damn question.”

Jim looked up, mischief shining in his eyes. “Bones, please. Manners.”

“Captain,” Spock interjected, before McCoy could explode. “I believe the doctor asks about a reasonable subject.”

McCoy pointed to him, seemingly in agreement. “Thank you.”

“I am still uncertain as to your specific query. However, from the points of interest you indicate, I can inform you that the captain and I did in fact converse on similar subjects last evening.”

Something like fear, then suspicion shot through Doctor McCoy’s expression.

“Is that some kinda metaphor? Talkin’ being somethin’ else?”

Spock inclined his head, feigning uncertainty.

“Not at all. We talked to great length last evening, although we did engage in other behaviour. And while I cannot speak to the full spectrum of sexual orientation, we did engage with _a_ sexuality.”

“Hmph, well that’s…” A look of absolute horror slowly appeared on McCoy’s face. He shot two quick glances at the pair – neither Jim nor Spock gave him any help. “You…?”

He suddenly slapped his hands over his ears. “No details! I don’t want any details!”

Within thirty seconds, the doctor had scooped up his breakfast items, and high-tailed it out of the mess hall, with a begrudging, “Congratulations, I guess!” as he shot out the door.

Jim leaned into his shoulder, giggling. “ _A_ sexuality?”

“An accurate, if misleading, description.”

“Like I said, we’ll tell him eventually.”

Spock lifted a brow. “Eventually.”

For now, he thought, he was content to let McCoy believe as he wished. Ignorance, though generally unproductive, could prove highly amusing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers! At last I got around to finishing this story - one that tugged on my little ace heartstrings. Hope you enjoyed! Please leave kudos/a comment if you did!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey thanks for reading! Spock being asexual has always been an important headcanon to me, especially since I'm ace. I love how fanfic lets Jim and Spock address their love in all kinds of ways, but there's never enough ace rep in the community. This is me doing my part! 
> 
> Let me know if you enjoyed my work with a kudos or a comment. And you can always tell me about your ace or otherwise headcanons at my tumblr: fictionandtheatre.tumblr.com


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